Welcome to the Brainwashed Club
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: Post Winter Soldier. Companion story to Rest and Recreation. Clint and Natasha come across Bucky Barnes after the fallout of SHIELD and help him try to get his life back, while meeting familiar faces along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: okay, so, we're doing this. Set after Winter Soldier, non compliant with Age of Ultron and Civil War. Follows my story Rest and Recreation, but I guess you don't have to read it if you don't feel like it.**

 **This honestly has been written for a while, but after I saw Civil War I was compelled to go back and address things that I wanted and didn't get there. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

"Nat, why didn't you call me?"

"Clint, you were in Brazil."

"I know I was in frickin' Brazil, but you still could have called me!" Clint drops his duffel bag in the entryway of his apartment in exasperation.

Natasha smiles slowly and hands him a cup of coffee. It's four AM and she knows he probably stressed the whole flight instead of sleeping. "Steve had my back," she assures him gently.

"I know he did," Clint says, sighing and accepting the steaming cup, "but you still could have called." He pulls her into a hug with his other arm. She lets him. "Could've at least warned me that I might be surrounded by HYDRA agents," he mumbles.

She chuckles in his ear. "To be fair, we were a little pressed for time."

"Right," Clint says, "And then you exposed all of SHIELD's files to the Internet, including your own."

"Mmmhmm."

"Why, Nat?"

It's her turn to sigh. "It was time."

"That was really brave," he whispers.

She has told him all of it, in little pieces, one at a time, and it wasn't new information for him. That was all she really cares about. She hums noncommittally.

"But I'm not a fan of how you've taken over my apartment," Clint says, pulling back from her and looking about him. Around the Spartan living space were half-opened boxes and odd knickknacks —she won't lie, she did it on purpose. "Let me guess, your place and all your information were compromised, so naturally, you decided to move into my just-as-compromised apartment."

She considers this. "Yep."

"Do I still have a bedroom, or is that where you put your weapons stash?"

"Rest easy, I wouldn't do that to your poor jetlagged self," she says with a smile, ruffling his hair.

"Oh, good."

"I'll remodel it into a weight room after you get up tomorrow."

"Natasha!"

He doesn't miss her sly grin.

* * *

Steve's the one who spills the beans. They're at some bar, him and Steve and Sam, getting all back on the same page and catching up. Sam strikes him as a great guy —and he's got a rockin' code name. But he almost chokes when Steve drops that word-bomb.

"The —the _Winter Soldier_?"

"Yeah, he was brainwashed by HYDRA and…."

He doesn't hear the rest of it. He remembers that mission five years ago —can still hear Natasha's sharp call for backup over his earpiece before nothing. She was in surgery for hours after that bullet, and he was afraid she wouldn't make it —it would have been too cruel, only a year and a half after escaping the KGB and the red room to have her tenuous freedom ripped from her.

The Winter Soldier.

"Clint?" Steve looks at him funny.

He has because he works for —well. _Worked_ for SHIELD —he's been trained to recall whatever he's told perfectly. "Yeah," he says automatically. "Hang on —" He's doubting that skill right now. "Bucky Barnes? _He's_ the Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah, didn't Natasha tell you?"

"No," he says slowly. "No, she didn't."

* * *

He comes back late and she's still up, watching reruns of Barney Miller. He remembers introducing it to her. He shrugs off his jacket, sits beside her, and waits until an infomercial interrupts the episode.

She mutes the TV and looks at him steadily. Her sixth sense is working tonight, apparently.

"Why didn't you tell me about him, Nat?"

"It was Steve's story to tell," she says simply.

"Still could've told me," he mutters. "Nat, the guy —"

"He was brainwashed, Clint," she says. "They wiped his mind and pointed him at targets. It's not his fault."

"I know," he sighs. He has dreams of shooting people through a blue haze —and he doesn't know why but he's just gotta do it. Because Loki tapped his heart and plumbed his brain. He's got sympathy for the mind-scrambled. "Where is he now?"

"In the wind, I think," she says.

He nods. "Show's back on," he says, pointing to the screen. Nat unmutes the TV, and they sit in silence, his arm behind her shoulders on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

"If you eat all my egg rolls, we're gonna have a talk."

"I ordered extra," she says nonchalantly, reaching into the bag for another. They're walking back to his place from the Chinese dive a few blocks away.

"You can pay next time," Clint says, holding his own bag full of rice and chicken.

"The next time I come to visit," she promises.

"Visit?"

"Pepper and Maria are going apartment hunting with me this weekend."

She's leaving. It's only been three weeks, but he likes seeing her toothbrush by his in the bathroom and her sweats in the laundry basket. "Getting tired of me already, huh?" he says, putting on a smile.

"Not you, your neighborhood," she says, casting a glance around at the buildings in various states of repair and wrinkling her nose. Bed Stuy, the place he calls home.

It's true, it's not the greatest. It's run down. There's some shady characters, plus the tracksuit mafia that likes to come in and bully residents every so often. But he likes it. It's familiar, if not sweet. "Fair enough."

Speaking of shady character in his neighborhood —something rustles in the mouth of the dark alley, and he subtly steps in front of Natasha. He hasn't got anything on him but a knife —but Nat grabs his wrist in a death grip before he can get to it.

The guy looks like a hobo —long hair, baseball cap, ragged hoodie —but the glint of metal tips him off. Plus, he's seen the pictures.

"It's okay," Natasha says from behind him. She says something else in Russian, and the man's eyes spark with surprise. He hesitantly answers back. As Clint knows exactly eight words in Russian —'da', 'nyet', 'tovarich', and 'can I pet your dog' —he's left in the dark for most of the conversation, but Nat's grip on his wrist lets up.

He glances back at her. She raises an eyebrow.

"We've got enough for three," he says. She smiles.

It's her call, and she just made it. Shifting the bag in his hands to his left arm, Clint reaches out to shake. "Clint Barton."

The man slowly grips his hand. "Bucky," he says. "I think."

Clint grins. "Welcome to the brainwashed club."

* * *

They've gotten the Chinese set up buffet-style on the table by the time Bucky steps out of the bathroom. He's wearing a t-shirt and sweats of Clint's, and his hair is wet and pushed out of his face. He looks a little more like the young man in the old black and white photos at the Smithsonian, but the brilliant shine on his metal left arm can be seen clearly. Clint gives it a once-over and resolves not to stare again.

"We've got chicken, beef, pork, rice, and hot and sour sauce," he says, pointing to the cartons. "Natasha is eating all the egg rolls."

"There are two left," she says placidly. "Stop complaining."

Clint laughs. "Go ahead and help yourself." He remembers to put out a fork or two —he has a problem eating rice with chopsticks, and if Bucky never learned how to use chopsticks, they didn't need that frustration on top of memory loss.

"Thanks," Bucky says quietly.

"You're welcome," Clint replies, helping himself to the chicken. "Dig in."

* * *

Maybe it's a spy-assassin thing. Or maybe it's a Russian thing. But both Nat and Bucky can eat _a lot._ He can too, but he paces himself. All their food disappears like they inhale it. _Training,_ he thinks to himself. Coming out around each other like accents getting thicker when you visit certain parts of the country. He eats his rice and watches, one eyebrow raised.

"Had enough?" he inquires blandly when Nat finishes her broccoli beef. She yawns and ignores him. He hides his grin.

"So what now, Bucky," she asks quietly, "have you thought about calling Steve?"

He could have found Steve if he wanted to. He found _them_ easy enough.

"I —" Bucky breaks off, tensing. "I don't know how much I remember about being James Barnes. I want to remember more… first."

"The couch is all yours if you want it," Clint offers.

"Thanks," he whispers.

"SHIELD had tricks for getting memories back, but there isn't a SHIELD anymore," Natasha mumbles. "But there's got to be other options. You want me to ask around?"

"Ask Tony if you ask anybody," Clint says. "He might know where the machines have got to. Might have hired the people that did the rehab."

She nods. "Think about it, Bucky. You've got plenty of time."

"What _do_ you remember?" Clint asks after a minute. Bucky stares at his hands, one flesh and the other metal. He swallows. "Cold," he says. "Cold, all the time. Not a whole lot."

"It'll come back," Nat says.

"How do you know?" He looks defeated.

"Mine did."

They lock eyes, and Clint feels shut out. While he knows the feeling of your brain being stirred with a whisk, he never had years of his life taken away. Natasha tells Bucky something in Russian, quiet and low. Clint excuses himself to go hunt up some blankets for their new amnesiac friend with freezer burn.


	3. Chapter 3

Technically, he doesn't have a job anymore. SHIELD dissolved, basically.

Tasha told him Maria has gone to work for Stark. He's giving the matter some thought. There's always the carny circuit, after all. At the moment, though, he's catching Bucky up on history and pop culture.

It's kind of fun, actually. And it's not a complete catch up session, either. Every so often, Bucky will say, "I remember that," and Clint will write down whatever it was and a date, so that later they can maybe put together a shaky timeline for him.

He knows Nat has given Steve the file she'd pulled from her contacts —but they can't ask for the file back or Steve will know something is up. Plus, Nat thought it'd be better for Bucky to try to get a handle on his head before he read a bunch of shocking clinical facts on the Winter Soldier.

Clint figures she knows what she's talking about. He does doubt her, though, once or twice —remembering something terrible you did isn't a walk in the park. Take this moment, for example:

"I remember that," Bucky says, jaw clenching. His face has gone pale, hard —Clint stares at the book open in front of them. _History of the United States,_ it says. _In Pictures._

Clint licks his lips, feeling the land mine just out of reach. "Which —"

" _That_ ," Bucky says, jabbing the picture in the middle of the page. "It was me."

"Ah," is all Clint can say. He wishes Nat were here. Her low voice and steady eyes would surely be a better option than his stuttering phrases right now. But she's out visiting Sharon, trying to make the most of her downtime to play cupid with her and Steve, and won't be back 'til late.

"It was —it was me," Bucky repeats, horror mounting in his face as the full weight of the blow hits him. "God—"

Clint grabs his flesh shoulder, squeezes. "Breathe, Buck."

"I killed the President of the United States," Bucky mutters, staring at the color photograph of JFK in a convertible in Dallas, moments before his death.

"It wasn't you," Clint says, voice low. "You had no control; HYDRA —"

Bucky shakes his hand off his shoulder. "It was _still me."_ He stands up and moves away from the couch, runs his hand through his hair, breathing hard. "They'll never forgive me for this."

"Bucky." Clint stands. "HYDRA assassinated JFK. HYDRA ordered the killings, the missions, the deaths. Not you. _HYDRA_."

"But I _remember_ it," Bucky hisses. "I pulled the trigger. Me."

"So did I," Clint says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky glares at him, suspicious, unsure.

"New York. Giant wormhole, portal thing. Aliens everywhere. Orchestrated by a guy named Loki —Thor's brother. Heard of Thor? Literal Norse god." Clint shakes his head. Who though he'd live in a world where that would be normal?

"Loki had a beef with earth, and he had this scepter thing that scrambled people's heads. Mine, along with a bunch of scientists and other SHIELD agents." Clint shrugs, looking away. "It was like I was in control —thinking rationally, methodically, but totally loyal to him. The part of me that differentiated between friend and foe got locked behind steel plated walls."

A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he looks back at Bucky. "I did a lot of things I'm not proud of. Killed quite a few people, some of them friends. It was only for a couple of days, but —it messes with you. So I'm not gonna say I get what you're going through, because I can't even imagine the scale—but you're not alone. It takes time, but… you get to a point where you can deal with it. The guilt. Because there isn't anything we could have done. It was all them."

Clint stands, waiting, but Bucky doesn't move. He only blinks, processing.

He passes a hand over his face, spent for the day. "Give yourself some grace, Buck," he murmurs. "And think of what those ghosts would say to you if they knew… what you've been through. If there's any justice in this world, they ought to recognize you're just as much a victim as any of them."

Clint retreats to his room and flops on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He only hopes that some part of his pitiful explanation rings true.

* * *

Clint answers the door Saturday morning covering up a yawn. "Morning, Pepper," he says.

"Good morning, Clint," she replies with a smile. The Stark Industries CEO is very casual this morning in jeans and a sweater.

"Come on in." He holds the door open for her. "Where's Maria?"

"Um… Maria is dealing with a situation," Pepper says delicately. "She said to tell Natasha sorry and she'll help her furniture shop later."

"Gotcha," Clint says, nodding sagely. The cereal sounds from the kitchen are suspiciously quiet. "It's okay, Buck," Clint tells the air. "Come meet Pepper. Mum's the word," he says to Pepper. "Don't tell Steve. Or Tony."

She gives him a condescending look. "I can keep a secret from Tony," she says dryly.

Bucky peeks around the kitchen and Clint waves him on encouragingly. "Pepper, this is Bucky Barnes."

"Oh my goodness," Pepper whispers. As all of Bucky comes into view, she beams at him. "Hi. It's nice to meet you, Bucky."

He nods awkwardly, suddenly bashful.

"Hey Pepper," Natasha says, exiting the bathroom carrying her makeup bag and straightener. "Be right with you."

"Take your time," Pepper says with a gentle wave. "So how long has your one person apartment been a three person apartment, Clint?"

"A couple of days with the three of us, three weeks with me and Nat, but it's not bad."

"Natasha's been keeping you in line?"

"I don't see why she should; she took over _my_ apartment."

"I don't know how you ever got along without me," Natasha says grabbing her purse. "Let's go."

"Lovely to meet you, Bucky," Pepper says, waving at the silent soldier still in the doorway.

"Have fun," Clint says.

"Always." Tasha flashes him a grin and he shuts the door behind the two women.

Clint glances over his shoulder. "You alright, Buck?"

"She wasn't scared," Bucky says slowly, chewing over this revelation.

"Were you expecting her to be scared?"

"Kinda," he mumbles, staring at his metal limb.

"Pepper's tough. And she's seen worse. Some nut job shot her up with some gene-manipulation drug thing. Got super strength and glowed like fire for a while, but Tony reversed the effects."

"The guy you think could help me?"

"Yep, they're engaged. Getting married in three months." Clint points to the 'save the date' postcard on his fridge that happily announces the Stark/Potts marriage as Tony and Pepper beam from the middle of Tony's workshop, surrounded by scrap metal and robot parts. Bucky studies it for a long moment, and Clint and goes back to his oatmeal and coffee.

The two men eat in silence, but as they load the dishwasher, Bucky mumbles, "I think… I'd like to talk to him. If Pepper was here."

"Okay," Clint says. "We'll talk to Pepper about it when she and Nat get back."

Progress. Baby steps.

"You love her, don't you?"

Clint pauses. "Pepper?"

"Natasha." Bucky waits.

Clint sighs. "Yeah." Then he smiles.

"I can tell," Bucky says.

Clint laughs. "Yeah, most people can."

"She loves you, too."

He knows that as well —but it amazes him that Bucky can see it. He nods, and they finish the dishes in silence.

* * *

Pepper seems to have no problem with Bucky's request —she has taken quite a shine to him, if the clothes she bought him are any indication. "Natasha said he fit into your clothes pretty well, so we just used your sizes," Pepper tells Clint.

"What happened to apartment hunting?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"This was after," she says.

Bucky walks out of the bathroom in dark wash jeans and a t-shirt. "Do I need to try it _all_ on?" he says, looking a little lost.

"No," Pepper says, "look through them and pick out whatever you want. I'll take the rest back. And it's Tony's money, so don't worry. When do you want to have that meeting?"

Clint shrugs. He's got nothing going on, so whenever people decide to invade his apartment is fine with him. "Buck? Today is Saturday. When do you want Tony and Pepper over?"

He thinks about this. "Monday?"

"I'll put it on the calendar," Pepper promises with a smile.

"Don't tell Steve," Bucky says. He still looks a little nervous that his existence is becoming common knowledge.

"I won't," Pepper promises.

"Sam and I were talking about doing something next week," Nat says. "We'll make it Monday and bring Steve."

"Sam, _Falcon_ Sam?" Clint asks.

"Yes, the Falcon," Nat says, wry and amused. "Honestly. You bird boys." They share a smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Yeah, so... I'm sorry for this. I had tears, myself. But I needed this, and I'm sure others need it too after CACW.**

* * *

It's Monday, and Bucky has been jittery all morning. It could have had something to do with the nightmare that woke them all up at 3 a.m. Probably does. Clint makes decaf coffee and lets Bucky pace as much as he likes.

Eleven o'clock rolls around, and they can both hear Tony exclaim, "Pep, you said this was a surprise! What is a surprise doing in Barton's apartment?"

"You'll _see_ ," Pepper insists, in full Tony-requires-a-special-amount-of-patience mode.

Clint opens the door. "Morning Pepper, Tony."

Tony Stark eyes him over the top of his sunglasses. "You do not fit my definition of 'surprise', Barton. You had better have a pony in there."

Pepper smacks his arm. "Behave," she commands. She steps past Clint. "Hi, Bucky. This is Tony, my fiancé. Tony —"

"Barton, do you mean to tell me the guy the Capsicle is looking for has been chilling in your apartment this whole time?" he demands, pointing at Bucky. "Not a great hiding spot."

Pepper rolls her eyes. Clint shrugs and smiles. "Surprise."

"Ha," Tony says, inspecting Bucky. "Good to meet you. Any reason you haven't told Methuselah yet?"

"They said you could help me," Bucky says, speaking up before Clint and pepper get a word in.

"Help with what? I'm a versatile kind of guy."

"HYDRA used some kind of machine to wipe his mind, repeatedly," Clint says. "Nat and I thought maybe you could find it, or that you knew of something that could bring the memories back."

Tony thinks about this. "Maybe," he concedes. "But that'll take a good bit of time. Remember much about that machine?"

"Not really," Bucky says, pursing his lips.

"Let me see what I can find out," Tony says. "Pep, ask Maria if she can dig and see what the government recovered from any secret lairs or whatever." Pepper pulls out her phone. Tony turns back around to Bucky. "If a therapist is what you want, you'd be better off talking to the Falcon. Doesn't he work with Vets with PTSD?"

"Well, I shot at him, so he might not be in favor of that," Bucky mutters.

Tony pops a piece of gum in his mouth and smacks it. "Well, you never know. People change. Right now I could probably do more if I took a look at your arm." He nods at the metal appendage. "You want to do that?"

Bucky looks down at his left arm, frowning. After a minute, he sighs and says, "Okay."

* * *

They set up shop in the living room. Bucky's in the recliner, and Pepper holds his right hand while Tony looks over the left. Clint hands him tools. "With all the interlocking pieces, you have full rage of motion," Tony says, "just like your right arm. This is some amazing craftsmanship, considering when and where you probably got it." He examines the point where the skin and metal join. "I think they layered your skin over this metal," Tony mumbles. Bucky bites his lip and frowns.

Tony looks up from his examination. "Hey, you wanna see something?" he asks abruptly, pulling up his Led Zepplin t-shirt over his head. "Two months ago I had a metal arc reactor embedded in my chest," he says, pointing to the mass of scar tissue in the center of his chest.

Clint's eyebrows shoot up. The little circle of light was gone.

"I had it because I was in a bomb blast, and little shrapnel shards were trying to claw their way into my heart. There was, um…." he tries to show dimensions with his hands. "A good three inch deep cylinder embedded into my chest cavity, wasn't there, Pep? She had to change it one time. Remember?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Pepper groans. "There was puss in there."

"It wasn't _puss_ , it was —never mind. Anyway. I had that thing for three to four years. And I'm still trying to regrow part of my breast bone."

Bucky stares at him. "And you're telling me this because…?"

"I have a tendency to over share." Tony pulls his t-shirt back over his head. "Just roll with it." He continues to poke and prod the metal appendage.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Yep?" Tony tosses back a handful of raspberries. Clint hopes he's spit the gum out some time before this.

Bucky hesitates, opens his mouth —then shuts it. "Just… thanks."

"No problem, Tin Man."

* * *

Something's been eating at Bucky all day. He's nervous, jittery. Not like someone about to go off or unhinge —Clint knows those tells; hell, he's got 'em himself. Just —nervous.

Nat, back from her day excursion, is with Pepper off in the kitchen, talking about what to make for supper. The debate rages between fettuccini alfredo and enchiladas, but the fettuccini might be getting the upper hand. He's sitting at the table, pretending to read the newspaper. He's sure Tony and Bucky both know he's pretending, but there's no where else for him to really go in the apartment, since none of the men want to stick an oar into the dinner conversation, and they all know it. He turns the page in the Sports section and waits for the other shoe to drop —dinner, or whatever is boiling inside of Bucky.

Tony cleans off tools and sticks them back in his briefcase, while Bucky shrugs his shirt back on. Staring at his hands —one flesh, one metal —he comes to a decision, and looks up through his hair at Tony. "I have to tell you something."

Stark just raises an eyebrow, polishing a wrench that Clint is pretty sure he never used today. "What's up, Tin Man?"

Bucky sets his face. "It was me."

Clint wills himself not to move.

"What was?" Tony says, packing the wrench away.

"I killed your parents."

Except for the hum from the kitchen and the burble of the stove —Natasha has bowed out gracefully and allowed Pepper to put the fettuccini in the pot —the room is silent.

Bucky sits, coiled like a spring, ready to flinch away from whatever swing comes his way. Tony just sits, blinking like an owl. Like he's not sure he heard the man in front of him right. Then suddenly, Tony slumps back in his chair, passes a hand over his eyes. "Well."

"Didn't you hear me?" Bucky whispers. This is not the reaction he expected.

"I always knew their deaths weren't an accident. They were never consistent with a car crash —God," Tony's voice breaks off, and he scrubs his face with his hands. "I —mm. God," he whispered again, like a prayer.

After another moment, he says, "Never got along with my old man. We always got into it —always. Mom would have to break us apart. She was the only one who could reason with Dad when he was being especially pigheaded… but you knew him," Tony mumbles, "Was he always that way?"

Bucky stares at him, swallows hard, shivers.

"Mom was the one I got along with —she was _there —_ I guess I was a mama's boy. He used to get on to me about that, too." He exhales a long, shaky breath.

Tony finally looks —really _looks—_ at Bucky, the way he sits, ready to fight or dodge the blow that might come his way. That he expects to come his way.

Tony clears his throat. "Thank you for telling me, Bucky. I—" He clears his throat again.

"You can hate me," Bucky says in a low voice. "You _should_ hate me."

Tony stares at him blearily. "It's not your fault."

Clint's throat closes. Bucky is _crying_.

Tony hesitates for a second, but then pats the ex-assassin on the shoulder. "I know, kid," Tony mumbles, rubbing his eyes. His fingers come away wet. "It's just…nothing anybody can do. About any of it." His face screws up, twenty years of grief bubbling back to the surface.

Damn if Clint isn't experiencing some burning in his eye sockets, too.

"Who wants garlic bread?" Pepper asks, pocking her head out the kitchen door. "Oh…."

"I do," Tony says, rubbing the back of his hand under his nose.

Pepper takes the tissue box and sits down by the two of them, silently handing out Kleenex. "Is everything okay?" she whispers, leaning her forehead against Tony's.

"Yeah," Tony whispers, clearing his throat again. "You know, just regretting going to that grief counselor when you mentioned it two years ago."

"Never too late." Pepper kisses him on the nose, and then moves to sit by Bucky and rubs his back. "How 'bout you, Bucky?"

Bucky shakes his head, making no effort to wipe away the tears that are still falling.

Clint finally unbends, folds his newspaper, and wanders into the kitchen where Natasha looks up from the stove. Coming up behind her, he wraps his arms around her and rests his head against hers, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Dinner will keep for a while.

* * *

 **I'm captain of the 'let men experience honest emotion and catharsis 2kever' squad. Let me know what you think.**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: wasn't quite sure how to end this, but I suppose this is as good as any. I love when people can be well and happy. Hope you have enjoyed this little cathartic experience. :)**

* * *

It's always the lingering question in everyone's minds —when are you going to tell Steve?"

Honestly, Bucky's waiting until he can get a handle on this never ending grief, and this cycle of blame he puts on himself. Until he can say that he knows himself, until he can say that the man he is now still feels some of that same friendship for the man he knows as Captain America.

He'll never really be the same Bucky Barnes; he has seen and done too much that comes back to haunt him in the middle of the night. But he's not the Winter Soldier anymore. He's got to be someone who can accept both parts of his identity into a whole (without losing it, hopefully).

He's still waiting on that part, though.

But it ends up not mattering, because Steve finds him anyway.

Bucky has started going to the Smithsonian exhibit to read the plaques and look at the pictures, to try to connect solid historic fact to his own fluctuating memory. This particular day Steve is there too, and he spots Bucky under the baseball cap and hoodie right away. Bucky freezes, but he's surrounded by a crowd of people and there's nowhere to go, even if running out wouldn't cause a commotion. So he stays where he is, and waits.

"Bucky," is the only thing Steve says before pulling him into a hug.

Bucky freezes, limbs twitching, wondering why this feels so odd and familiar at the same time. And then, like a snapshot almost, he can remember hugging a shorter man.

 _"Don't do anything stupid 'til I get back."_

 _"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."_

"Oh," he mumbles, and Steve pulls back, staring at him in concern.

"You okay?"

Bucky says, for lack of anything better to say, "You used to be shorter."

Steve blinks and grins widely. "Well if that's all…"

* * *

"Hey, Bucky," Clint says as he comes through the door. "Oh. Hey Steve."

Steve makes a face at Clint. "I hear everyone's met Bucky but me."

"Ha, ha," Natasha says, flipping through channels on the couch by Clint's side. "What an overstatement."

Steve perches on the armrest and punches her arm. "You told _Tony_ before you told me."

Nat shrugs. "It was Bucky's decision."

"I had some things I had to work out," Bucky says in a low voice, glancing at Steve.

"I know," Steve says. He pitches his voice louder. "I'm just giving you a hard time, Romanoff."

"That's your definition of a hard time?" she asks incredulously.

"You stayin' for supper?" Clint asks, getting up from the couch. Obviously Steve and Nat were devolving into one of their famous snark battles. Which, depending on the mood, could last ages. Clint knew; Natasha used to do it to him, too.

"Who's cooking?" Steve replies.

"Me. I'm doin' burgers."

"Sure, I'll stay. So really, how many people did you tell?" Steve turns back to Natasha.

"Us, Pepper, Tony… I guess Maria probably knows," Nat ticks them off on her fingers. "We're trying to figure out some way to combat the brain washing. Get some memories back."

"How's that going?"

Nat shrugs. "Not fabulous. But now that you know, we can have Sam meet Bucky, see if the therapy angle might help."

Clint digs through the fridge to find the hamburger meat.

"Need any help?" Bucky asks.

Clint, one arm full of meat, shoves the condiments under his chin and in his other hand. "Can you grab the pickles?"

Bucky pulls the mayonnaise out from its precarious place wedged under Clint's chin and grabs the pickle jar on the top shelf of the fridge. Clint kicks the door closed. "Thanks. Do you want to grill? I'm going up to the roof."

"Bucky, for the love of God, grill the burgers," Natasha calls. "I don't want to eat charcoal."

"That was one time!" Clint exclaims. "Once!"

"I'll never let you live it down," Natasha says, picking up a magazine and flipping through it. "It was like chewing a briquette."

"Your burgers are safe with me," Bucky says, and maybe for the first time, openly smiles.

* * *

They all end up dragging Clint's sorry lawn chairs up to the roof. The guys gather around the grill, debating the best way to get the most out of your meat, and Natasha makes snarky comments from her place on a busted chaise lounge while Pepper and Sharon smirk. She called them when it seemed like dinner was turning into a party.

Tony flits back and forth between groups, wanting to be a part of everything and refusing to be left out of either conversation. Clint collapses by Natasha and gives up, sipping from a beer bottle and watching with interest the conversation between Bucky and Sam get louder and louder.

They _don't like each other_ , and everyone can tell. There is some serious side-eyeing, and frowning happening over the grill, and Steve looks like he isn't sure whether to referee or bust a gut laughing.

"It's like watching two kids squabble in a sand box," Clint mutters to Nat, much more on the bust-a-gut-laughing side of things himself.

"It's refreshing, though," Nat says with a smirk. "Bucky looks a lot more confident."

"You think Sam's doing it on purpose?" Clint asks, twisting around to look at her.

"No," she chuckles. "I just think it's helping. Nothing wrong with a little conflict. What are they talking about now?"

"Burger seasoning." Clint raises an eyebrow over two grown men holding little bottles of herbs and spices and shaking them emphatically at each other.

"Aww, look at Steve," Sharon coos, "He finally cracked."

Sure enough, there's Steve, grinning like a loon watching his two best friends fight over food. And they've caught on now and have both turned on him with expressions of aggrieved betrayal.

The group cracks up, and Tony, having an innate sense of when people are having fun without him, sidles over. "So has our fearless leader asked you out yet, Carter?" Tony asks, peeling a clementine orange.

"I'm giving him a little while," Sharon says, leaning back and propping one hand behind her head. "He's had a weird month."

"Because I'm sure we could arrange to lock you two in a closet somewhere for a few hours, see what happens —"

Tony is booed by all the women. "Let Steve do his thing, Tony," Pepper admonishes him. "It took you long enough." She shoots him a look. The look says, you took your damn sweet time and you know it.

He holds up his hands in surrender. "Forget I asked." He looks around the roof. "You know, the next time we do this, we should get Banner and Thor in on this."

"And Jane," Pepper reminds him. "You met Jane, remember?"

"Right! Science chick, Einstein-Rosen bridge, loud assistant."

"Darcy," Sharon supplies.

"Right. Like a family get together… thing." Tony frowns. "Except maybe at our place next time? Not in the middle of hellhole Bed Stuy?"

"Hey," Clint snaps. "What's wrong with Bed Stuy?"

They all stare at him. "I'm going to pretend you didn't ask that question," Tony says, rolling his eyes.

"Burgers are done!" Steve yells.

"Good," Nat says, standing up. "I'm hungry. They better not be cooked to death!" she hollers back. "Surely no one could pull your stunt off twice." She tugs on Clint's arm to lever him out of the chair.

He stands and slings an arm around her shoulders. "Well, you never know until you try."

She elbows him in the ribs. "Hush, you."

They wander over to the checkered-covered picnic table behind the others and join in the laughter, smell the summer air, and listen to the clink of bottles being shared among friends, people who aren't all the way whole, but happy.


End file.
